Chapter 3 - The Man Who Had Been ErasedDominic Moretti had built his empire on one rule.
Nobody disappeared without his knowledge.
Yet Michael Bennett had vanished four years earlier, leaving behind no body, no confirmed destination, and no explanation.
At the time, Dominic had believed his trusted financial manager had stolen a ledger containing evidence of corruption within the Moretti organization.
The warehouse where Michael had last worked burned three hours after he was supposedly seen boarding a bus for Chicago.
Investigators found blood near the loading bay.
They found Michael's abandoned car.
They never found Michael.
Dominic had assumed the man was dead or hiding beyond reach.
He had never imagined that somewhere in New York, Michael's wife was working six days a week to keep their daughter fed.
Inside the black limousine, Dominic stared at Rosie's drawing.
The little girl had carefully sketched each golden star on the shoes. Beneath the drawing, she had written her name in uneven letters.
ROSIE BENNETT.
He had seen that surname on an old personnel file.
“Bruno.”
“Yes, boss?”
“Pull Michael's entire file. Every financial record, every phone call, every person he contacted during the month before he vanished.”
“That could take hours.”
“Then you should have started already.”
Bruno immediately reached for his phone.
Across from Dominic, another bodyguard sat rigidly in his seat.
The man was named Victor Hale. He had served the Moretti family for twelve years and had once taken a bullet protecting Dominic's younger brother.
He was also the man who had delivered the first report accusing Michael of stealing the ledger.
Dominic turned toward him.
“Victor, who confirmed Michael's bus ticket?”
Victor blinked.
“I don't remember the details.”
“You signed the report.”
“Four years ago, sir. There were fires, missing funds, several investigations—”
“Was the ticket checked?”
Victor swallowed.
“I believe so.”
Dominic leaned forward.
“You believe so?”
The limousine suddenly felt much smaller.
“Get out,” Dominic ordered.
Victor stared at him.
“Boss?”
“Get out of my car.”
The driver stopped at the next red light. Victor climbed out onto the pavement, looking furious and frightened.
Dominic watched him disappear into the crowd.
“Bruno, have someone follow him. Quietly.”
Bruno nodded.
“What do you think he'll do?”
“Run, if he's guilty. Call someone, if he's working for someone else.”
“And if he's innocent?”
Dominic looked down at the drawing.
“Then he'll have nothing to fear.”
Meanwhile, at Bergman's, I was trying to convince Rosie that everything was fine.
It wasn't working.
“Mommy, that man said he knew Daddy.”
“I heard him, sweetheart.”
“Do you think Daddy's coming home?”
I looked through the limousine window at the glittering streets.
For four years, I had forced myself not to ask that question.
Hope was expensive. It consumed energy, sleep, and every scrap of peace I managed to find.
“I don't know,” I whispered.
Rosie rested her head against my shoulder.
“I'd still give him one of the shoes.”
I held her closer.
“Why?”
“Because maybe he didn't come home because he doesn't have any money.”
I closed my eyes.
She was six years old, and she was already making excuses for the man who had left her.
The limousine stopped outside our apartment building.
Before I could open the door, Bruno stepped forward.
“Mrs. Bennett, Mr. Moretti asks that you check your locks tonight. If anyone approaches you unexpectedly, call this number.”
He handed me a black card.
I wanted to throw it back at him.
Instead, I slipped it into my pocket.
Upstairs, I found our front door slightly ajar.
I knew I had locked it.
I pushed it open carefully.
The apartment looked untouched until I reached the bedroom.
The cardboard box beneath my bed had been dragged into the middle of the floor. Its contents were scattered across the carpet.
The old photograph lay facedown.
The broken watch was gone.
And on the wall, written in thick black marker, were five words.
STOP LOOKING FOR YOUR HUSBAND.
Behind me, Rosie began to cry.
Then my phone rang.
The unknown caller spoke only six words.
“Tell Moretti the ledger is missing.”
The line went dead.
I looked at the broken box.
May you like
For the first time in four years, I wondered whether my husband had abandoned us.
Or whether someone had made absolutely certain he could never return.
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